The Hughes Syndrome
by Ramses-Lives
Summary: A series of drabbles inspired by the poems of the talented Ted Hughes. Chuck/Blair-centric. Updated 10/27/08
1. Fate Playing

**These drabbles are inspired by parts of Ted Hughes poems. I do not own the rights to these poems, or Gossip Girl. **

**If you want to read the entire poem, the title will be the title of the chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**Fate Playing**

**...**

_You waited mistaken. The bus from the North_

_Came in and emptied and I was not on it._

_Not matter how much you insisted_

_And begged the driver, probably with tears_

**...**

His eyes stared dumbly at the thin layer of amber liquid that waited in the bottom of the tumbler, promising fire, then numbness. The last effect was all he cared for, but he couldn't bring his hand to lift the escape to his swollen lips. Shifting slightly, his bare ass rubbed against the fabric of his couch in a not entirely unpleasant way, and he desperately tried to keep memories from invading the moment.

Outside the windows, his beloved city cruised ahead. He could feel it in his veins, pulsing. But for the moment, Chuck felt quiet removed from New York. He was so removed that he didn't notice how much he was shaking.

The sound of his name being uttered brought him crashing back.

Standing, he frantically looked around his dark apartment for her smile, mussed curls framing her face. All he found was sickly tanned limbs sprawled in his bed, attached to a mess of oily blonde hair, but he didn't find Blair.

_Blair._

The mere thought of her name brought his search to a stop and he remembered why he wanted numbness as he looked down at the intruder and thought sadly that his bed would never smell like Blair again. Her fragrance a mix of pomegranate and something he didn't think there was a name for yet. Something that brought his restless soul peace.

He tried halfheartedly to remember the blondes' name as she extended her sweaty palm invitingly towards him, but Chuck simply didn't care. He felt annoyed and angry, knowing full well that Blair would never looked as used as this whore did.

Turning away after giving her a sneer, he went into his bathroom and locked the door, and splashed cold water on his face. He needed to clear his head and think.

His dark eyes caught his reflection in the mirror and he gave an inward shudder, wondering how long it had been since he really looked at himself in the mirror.

And more importantly, when he stopped liking what he saw.

Of course he knew the answer; the minute the roses hit the trash bin.

Self loathing coarsed through his veins and Chuck truthfully couldn't remember smashing his hand into the mirror. He looked at the shards sticking out of his palm, red liquid framing them more and more by the second. He was only vaguely aware of the pain, and the urgent knocking on the locked door.

The only thing he could see was Blair's face as he imagined her realizing he wasn't coming.

The only thing he could feel was his heart slamming against his rib cage in attempt to escape to her.

The only thing that could ever fix him now was her.

But the only way she would forgive him for this abandonment was if she truly loved him. And the thought of Blair loving him, of being forever linked to his own black heart for eternity, scared and thrilled him at the same time.

* * *

**_A/N:_** I was reading a book of Ted Hughes poems and some lines in there just made me think of Chuck and Blair, so I decided to start this short drabble series. I hope everybody enjoys, I know there are at least 10 more I will do. Please R&R and tell me what you think :)


	2. The Lodger

**These drabbles are inspired by parts of Ted Hughes poems. I do not own the rights to these poems, or Gossip Girl. **

**If you want to read the entire poem, the title will be the title of the chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**The Lodger**

_My new study_

_Was all the ways a heart can kill its owner_

_And how mine had killed me._

Used.

It was an adjective Blair Waldorf never thought could be associated with her pristine name, but she couldn't deny it fit now. Chuck Bass had used her and then deserted her. In a foreign country no less. She tried desperately to hold onto the rightious indignation of it all as she stared at the tauntingly unused bed in what was suppose to be _their _room.

She had been there two days and still couldn't bear to sleep in it.

Blair Waldorf actually slept on the couch, of all things. Another mark against Chuck for making her sleep on a couch.

In the past two devastatingly lonely days, she had made a long list in her head of things to blame that man for. She kept adding and adding things, even as she talked to Serena and assured her she was having a great time enjoying all the wonders Tuscany had to offer, even though in truth Blair never left their room.

If she left, how would he find her?

She quickly shooed the thought out of her head. She didn't want him to find her, she didn't need him. She was Blair Waldorf and she'd be damned if she let a heathen like Chuck Bass define her.

But she knew she was damned and added that to the lengthy list as well, ignoring her salty tears as if they would go away on their own. Because acknowledging them even by elegantly wiping them away would signify that she knew she loved him; trusted him. And had somehow lost Chuck.

And Blair Waldorf didn't lose.

* * *

**_A/N: _**Here is another short drabble, I know it's really short and sorry for that. The others should be longer. Anyways, as always, I hope everyone enjoyed and please R&R :)


	3. Your Paris

****

**These drabbles are inspired by parts of Ted Hughes poems. I do not own the rights to these poems, or Gossip Girl. **

**If you want to read the entire poem, the title will be the title of the chapter.**

**Chapter 3**

**Your Paris**

_My fingers linked in yours, you expected_

_The final face-to-face revelation_

_To grab your whole body. Your Paris_

_..._

_Where your letters_

_Waited for him unopened. Was a labyrinth_

_Where you still hurtled, scattering tears._

_Was a dream where you could not_

_Wake or find the exit_

_..._

Her room had a certain open elegance, a certain light. It was so doubtlessly regal that he wasn't sure if it really existed or if this was a dream. But Chuck knew it couldn't be a dream, because he hadn't dreamed in exactly seventeen days. He had only had a reoccurring nightmare.

He fought a sad smile from taking over his face as he brushed the palm of his hand against the white linen of her bed, his hand tingling from the warmth she had left on it. If only this place didn't smell so much like her, maybe he wouldn't be so scared.

No. He was Chuck Bass.

Bass men were never scared. Bass men won.

And he was here for the win. No uncertainties. No more games after this one. Blair was his since before he can clearly remember anything but headbands and curls coming towards him on the playground long ago.

But if only the smell wasn't driving him to the door, because he knew if he smelled it, smelled her too long, he would go insane. She wouldn't be his, he would be hers.

Not that it matter, because they were both going to hell. Well he was anyways, and he wasn't going to go there without her, he had decided.

He loved waiting though. It gave him time to think; plan; strategize. Blair Cornelia Waldorf deserved nothing but his best game. Besides, he wasn't the only one with seventeen days to map out what to say. Memorize every retort. He was sure his queen also spent her time well.

He moved over to her desk and scanned the various items on the desk, trying to take his mind off the hideous sound his heart was making in his chest. Nothing seemed out of place or different from her vanity back in New York.

Except the stationary.

Chuck knew Blair never wrote letters. She demanded audience.

Before he could slip a hand out of his pocket and open drawer number one, he heard the sound of his angel, his executioner, his prisoner, his everything and nothing.

"Chuck."

He turned and was taken back for the billionth time by her flawless beauty.

He knew in his head this was the most important game he would ever play, and to lose would be unthinkable.

* * *

Blair watched the sun rise slowly.

Her eyes still burned from tears and her skin still burned from his kisses. Despite these things, she had a moment of clarity in which she decided that the sun burned more vibrantly in France then elsewhere.

Or maybe everything, including her, burned more vibrantly when he was around.

Except Fire. Fire burned no matter what.

She watched as the ten letters were turned to ash. Her words and tears and feelings from the few weeks curling into red. Then she watched the ash swirl away in the wind before heading back up to her room; To her Chuck.

The game was over and somehow they both had won.

For now.

* * *

A/N: I would like to thank puresimplicity-xo, princetongirl, Blood Red Kiss of Death, Isabelle, dreamgurl, and BlairCorneliaWaldorfBass for reviewing. :) Well, here is another drabble. It is a little AU. As always I hope everyone who reads enjoys! :)


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